


Only the beginning

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 01:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5987068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter 1 of the Mapmaker Series. A human woman joins the company of Thorin Oakenshield on the quest to Erebor as a mapmaker and finds a lifelong love.</p>
<p>Thorin offers comfort on a cold night to the mapmaker, who has admired him from afar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only the beginning

It had been a glorious, sunny day when you’d signed your contract and joined the company of dwarves as mapmaker and scribe. Little did you know that this grand adventure would lead you to see the dwarves, and Bilbo, their brave hobbit companion, as a second family. Well, only family, really, since your parents were dead. You’d never dreamed that you could feel so at home with people who were so different from yourself, but the dwarves had taken you in and made you one of their own, like a big band of uncles and brothers. Even the company’s stern, handsome, enigmatic leader, Thorin Oakenshield, seemed to have made peace with his initial misgivings about the usefulness of a young woman to the quest, and would give you the occasional gruff compliment on your work. 

In fact, you often noticed Thorin quietly observing you, as you worked, surrounded by your parchments and quills…when you pitched in to help Bofur dish up supper…while you listened to the songs and stories by the campfire at night. Once, when you were sparring with Kili and Fili, practicing the basic fighting maneuvers they’d been teaching you, you suddenly felt a hand on your shoulder. The famed warrior Oakenshield himself had stepped in to correct your form, showing you – more patiently than you’d have expected – how to lower your elbow, put your foot further forward. Even his nephews seemed mildly surprised. 

If you were being honest, lately your thoughts wandered to Thorin more often than you’d have cared to admit, and an uncontrollable blush bloomed on your cheeks whenever you felt his watchful eyes upon you, which confused and irritated you in equal measure. If he noticed it – how could he not? – he had the grace not to make any sign of acknowledgment. 

Sunny days were few and far between now. The chill in the air held the promise of winter, and the quilts you’d brought from home, sufficient in the balmy early days of the journey, weren’t keeping you very warm at night anymore. You would never have mentioned it to anyone, wanting so much to pull your own weight and prove your worth, but you’d already spent a handful of nights shivering, drifting in and out of fitful sleep.

On the worst night yet, after a day of trudging on under iron-gray skies and being intermittently pelted with rain, you awoke in the wee hours to find a dusting of frost shimmering in the moonlight. It was on the ground, on your quilts, even your hair was damp with it. The dwarves around you, clad in their leathers and thick furs, snored away, oblivious to the drop in temperature. With a grunt of frustration, you sat up and shook out your covers, and began to try to rearrange them in some way that might afford you a little more protection from the cold.

And then you heard it. Your name, spoken quietly in an unmistakable, rich baritone.

You braced for his disapproval – nearly everyone in the company had felt the rough edge of his tongue at one time or another, it may as well be your turn – but when you turned to face him, Thorin’s eyes were kind. You opened your mouth to apologize for waking him, but you were silenced by his next word.

“Come.”

You were taken aback. Thorin was accustomed to giving orders and being obeyed, but this didn’t strike you as a command from a leader to a member of his company. The word carried a tenderness and concern that you hadn’t experienced before from the formidable heir of Durin. 

Your confusion must have been plain on your face, because he spoke again, his voice a soft rumble. “I know you’re cold. Those quilts of yours are better suited to a summer picnic than a night like this.” That rare smile played about his lips. “Let me keep you warm. I expect nothing from you,” he added quickly, his expression turning more serious.

You knew Thorin was nothing if not honorable. Casting a last glance at your miserable bedding, you crept quietly to his side and lay down as he opened his arms and draped his heavy, fur-lined coat over you. The combination of cold and nervousness had made your muscles rigid, but as Thorin gently pulled you close, so that your back was pressed securely against his broad chest, his warmth began to radiate throughout your tense, tired body, and you felt yourself relax and melt into his arms.

Gazing at the glowing embers of the fire, held close to Thorin and feeling the comforting weight of his coat on you, a small sigh of contentment escaped your lips. You felt, as much as heard, his low chuckle. “Better?” he whispered. 

“Much.” You smiled, though he couldn’t see your face. “Thank you, Thorin.” 

His warm breath slightly stirred your hair. “You are welcome. Sleep well.”

And you had. Sleep had come quickly, blissfully, more restful than it had been in weeks. You wondered the next morning, as you packed up your things to move on, whether you’d only imagined feeling a soft kiss placed among the messy locks of your hair just before you drifted off. The thought – like so much about Thorin these days – made you blush, and as you slung your bedroll over your shoulder, you smiled to yourself, beginning to hope that this wouldn’t be the last night you would spend in the arms of the dwarven King.


End file.
